


choke.

by ghosts_sho



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Biting, Choking, D/s, Footjob, Other, PWP, Scratching, afab nb character, pat-down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 15:26:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15146090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosts_sho/pseuds/ghosts_sho
Summary: “Go ahead. Search until you're satisfied.”





	choke.

**Author's Note:**

> A very liberal re-imagining of the pat-down scene.

“Go ahead. Search until you're satisfied.”

I stare at the accused murderer standing in my doorway, his palms up in submission and expression nothing short of scandalous. Is he...serious? Is he teasing? Does he think he can scare me off from questioning that easily? My eyes harden.

“I think I will.”

“You're just full of surprises, aren't you?” the doctor asks, shock evident in the wideness of his eyes. What, he thought I would be too afraid to call his bluff? I very nearly scoff. I have nothing to fear from him. Has he already forgotten the night prior? I consider him, and the side of him that I've gotten to know since this adventure started. Hard to think it was only yesterday.

The doctor is a man on the run, a man who supposedly stole another's life. But he's also a man that hides a sensitive side behind charm and wit. I'm not afraid of him, not anymore.

And yet... putting my hands on the doctor isn't as easy as I thought it might be. I stare as a roguish grin spreads across his face.

“Well then, don't be shy. I promise I'll be good.”

“Ha,” I say rather more forcefully than I intended. My bravado may be contrived, but it works for the moment. “Don't make promises you can't keep, Doctor Devorak.”

The effect is at least instant; the doctor—no, he asked me to call him _Julian_ —flushes. While he's distracted by my insinuation, I move closer and tentatively reach for his shoulders. The fabric of his shirt is heavy to the touch but soft; well worn.

“Not afraid to get up close and personal, are you—”

That's quite enough talking. I slide my hands under his shirt, perplexed by the coolness of his skin and the flush of crimson that colors his pallid cheeks. I return his gaze steadily, brushing my fingers over his pulse. It's beating fast, and only pulses harder from my touch.

...Is Julian _excited_ by this? The thought is ludicrous, or it would be if he weren't gazing at me as if I were an oasis amidst a desert. I can't help but want to chase the intrigue; surely this man, brimming with confidence and mischief, can’t be a little worked up over some light _touching_. The thought is as amusing as it is surprising. His soft gasp is confirmation when my hand slips deeper under his collar, over the subtle swell of his chest. My fingers brush across coarse hair and cool skin, over a firm bud that brings another gasp from Julian's lips.

And then he tries to slip away as my hand moves to his waist. “No, no—” he starts. The tips of his ears are flaming red, and he’s looking at me with a smile I know is meant to suggest confidence, even humor. It wavers when my hand whips up to push his head back, to the door, but my aim is...off. My fingers curl around his neck; Julian stumbles into the door, looking anything but put off. I stare, just for a moment, and squeeze. Julian very nearly mewls.

...What an odd man. I find I don’t dislike the idea, though; in a way, it’s exciting to have someone hand the reins to me so thoroughly. Who would have known I’d like it?

“Stop _moving_ , Doctor Devorak,” I say coolly. This is, after all, just a search. There’s no reason to be embarrassed, or at least that’s what I tell myself. It shouldn’t matter if Julian is skittish behind his own put-upon bravado.

“...Quite ticklish,” the doctor mumbles, sheepish, but he falls still a moment later with a stuttering breath and appraises me. There’s something in his eye like surprise, and...longing. Curious, I continue my exploration until the shirt collar hinders my movement. Letting go of him—ah, it would be a pity, I think momentarily. We’re so close that I can feel every movement he makes, and when his back arches away from the door I can feel his hips nudge against the softness of my stomach.

Something tells me if I hesitate, the moment might be lost. We're stealing time right now, not so far from the eyes of Vesuvia. Guards are close by, I'm sure of it. Moreover, I…shouldn't be doing this. There are a million reasons why, the least of which is that we've only met a few times now.

I shouldn't do this, but I want to. The way Julian looks at me is a marvel, and I feel like we're old friends. If we're caught...

I swallow thickly, enraptured by how Julian tries to meet my gaze as if nothing is out of the ordinary, as if we’re not two near-strangers standing outside the door to my shop in some kind of power play that is quickly devolving into perversion.

It only piques my curiosity more.

Oh, to hell with it. I haven't been intimate with anyone as far back as I can remember. My studies, my shop duties...why not. The doctor’s interest is the furthest thing from subtle, after all. I watch his throat bob when I squeeze into the sides, licking my lips and meeting his eye with interest. There’s no hiding the way he goes slack, his lid sliding half closed and eye bright.

“Aren’t you afraid of being seen like this?” I ask, conversational. His shirt is so loosely buttoned that it falls apart with the barest suggestion of magic creeping along the fabric. My eyes rove over his form, betraying nothing when I run my hand along his hip and feel something hard. The shape of it is—ah, sharp. “A knife? What are you planning on doing with that, I wonder…”

Julian opens his mouth to answer, but I press my hand more tightly into his throat to cut off his words.

“I didn’t ask,” I remind him sweetly. He groans in response, struggling against my hand and taking in rapid breaths that I know are doing nothing to sate his need for oxygen. I wonder if Julian thought he might have caught a timid, mild-mannered sort. The kind he could rile up with a few suggestions and watch blush and stammer for the fun of it. I hope if that’s the case, he’s sorely disappointed.

My hand slips around the knife, fingertips brushing across the front of his pants—over a painfully conspicuous bulge. I stifle a snicker at Julian’s groan, squeezing his throat still tighter when he attempts to nudge into my hand.

“What did I say about moving?”

“Ghh—n-not to—” he manages to answer through the compression of his throat. His words are weak, a flimsy imitation that comes out more air than voice. As much as I enjoy the picture he's making—face flushed and eyes desperate lips parted so he can attempt to draw in air—my hand is starting to ache. I could use magic, but...well, not everyone is particularly comfortable, much less _fond_.

Julian wobbles when I let go, sliding down the door with a choked gasp for air, then another, and another. His broad shoulders quiver while his chest heaves, and lust is written so clearly across his face that I feel a pressure jolt low in my own stomach.

“Already finished?” Julian asks, his voice whisper-thin but an edge of his familiar bravado bleeding through.

“Inside,” I answer vaguely. The door opens with a flick of my wrist and he stumbles backward into the counter, barely managing to catch himself before he tumbles to the ground. It musses his already tousled curls, which fall over his eyepatch and obscure the right side of his face.

“You—”

“Didn't I already tell you not to speak, Doctor Devorak?” I cut over him, crowding his space once again so that our bodies are pressed flush together. A groan is his only verbal response; I can tell from the way he shudders that he's trying not to move, but his hips still squirm. “Are you even trying to follow orders? Honestly, I didn't think I'd have to break you in.”

Julian is at least a head taller than me, his body much broader than my own. In a test of physical prowess, he could best me easily, but he makes no move to take the reins.

“My, my. You're so worked up and I haven't even checked everywhere,” I tease in a scathing lilt. For motivation, I drag my nails down his chest, delighting in how his back arcs inward and he bites his lip yet again to stifle his noises. “Was that nice?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to do it again?”

“ _Please_ ,” Julian answers, emphatic. I hum.

“So you do know the rules,” I murmur with veiled praise in my voice. My nails trace the contour of his pectoral, pressing in and scraping red lines that vanish a moment later to the sound of a soft moan. “You like it when it hurts, huh? You came to the right place, Doctor.”

Though my voice remains light, I'm considering my next move. Julian is hard, looking at me as if pleading for something he dare not ask for, and I feel a thrum of possibility in my chest. I don't particularly want to be touched; doing the touching seems much more fun. I have a feeling we aren't seeing the last of each other today, so perhaps...if our paths cross again…?

No matter, at least not for now. I'd rather leave the future for later; the present is much more inviting.

Before Julian has time to wonder at my brief pause, I thread my fingers into his auburn hair and tug—hard. As if the soft strands are a lead, I bring him to a stool behind the counter and yank down. There's nothing for him to do but follow, and he falls with his back to the wall, gazing up from the stool with expectation in the furrow of his brows.

“Open your legs,” I command, still holding tight to his hair. His knees part automatically. My wrist twists to pull his hair even tighter. “More. As far as you can, doctor.”

Strange how he complies as if I'm making an ordinary request. I bring my foot up to rest against the outline of his cock, daring him to move with a silent look of warning.

He gulps.

I've never explored something like this before, but it must be something I've done with how natural it feels to lean down to press featherlight kisses over his pulse. The sole of my foot presses in until Julian grunts, from discomfort or something else I'm not sure. “Is it too much?”

“You can be—” Julian breaks off with a desperate gasp when my teeth sink into his neck, worrying the thin skin relentlessly. “Rougher. I won't break— _ahh_ —” I feel his throat bob. “P-please.”

That's better. I rub with as much force as I can muster, littering Julian's neck with bites that fade away again and again. It's odd, but I don't question it. It's satisfying to try to leave a real mark; not until I taste the metallic tang of blood am I satisfied, my own breaths panted hotly against his skin and my blood turning to steam.

I have the vague thought that it would be really inconvenient if Asra came home. Julian's voice is growing louder, pitched higher; anyone outside the door would know what's happening inside without having to see.

But... I've played with the doctor enough. I straighten and wrap my hands around his throat, the pale column finally dotted with a mark of ownership that slowly fades, and squeeze. Julian gurgles.

“If you want to come, then move,” I demand, voice lower and rougher than I can ever recall from my memory, and move he does. Hips rolling and head tilted back to rest against the wall, Julian moves his arousal against the unforgiving sole of my shoe, panting, a desperate mess wound tight and ripe to burst. He's beautiful, rowdy if our short interactions have told me the full picture, and right now I have him gasping for air that won't come. At my whim.

It doesn't take long. I wonder when the last time anyone touched him is—if he's let someone close enough to see beyond the veil of boldness to this vulnerable core. Gasps turn to rough, stuttered whimpers from parted lips that turn darker red with deprivation, Julian’s skin flushed scarlet. Who knew the infamous doctor could make such noises? His body is singing before me, eye rolling back and mouth moving soundlessly as a shudder rips through him and leaves him limp in my hands. I can feel wetness between my legs, my own fingers trembling as I relent so that he can breathe.

I lean back against the counter while Julian collects himself, hands first moving to his throat, then to the scratches on his chest. His uncovered eye rests on the stain in the front of his trousers, then glances up to meet my gaze.

“I believe you,” I say cheekily, a satisfied laugh tumbling out before I can stop it. With a wave of my hand, the mess disappears from his pants. “Did you find what you were looking for, then?”

Julian’s brows furrow, as if he doesn’t know what to make of my question, or...perhaps as if he doesn’t want to give a real answer. He’s a fugitive, rumored dangerous, and yet he looks oddly vulnerable as he takes my hand and brushes a kiss over my knuckle. “Not exactly. I was looking for—”

The door to the shop opens, and we both start as if burned. I whirl around and go rigid. Portia is standing in the doorway, looking at us in disbelief. No—she’s not looking at me. She’s looking at Julian. Her voice is constricted when she speaks, not even sparing me a glance.

“ _Ilya_?”

**Author's Note:**

> put a masochist in front of me and this is what h*cking happens
> 
> questions i asked myself: is it normal to just straight up start choking someone in a first encounter, and do i care if it's not
> 
> aaaaanyway, i left the personal details out about the MC for the most part, but if i write more (which i might not, who knows) ... it will be relevant. so.
> 
> thanks for reading \o/


End file.
